My Religion
by WitheringSage
Summary: Lancelot meets a woman who challenges his mind on faith. But when he finds that she is less than reverent in her beliefs he sinks into a cynical gloom.


**My Religion**

_There's nothing wrong  
With tradition  
But tell me where it says  
Not to follow our hearts  
That's why so many  
Of us are so confused  
And will never live  
Up to your rules_

Chronology: Tristan is 19. Lancelot is 17. Raja is 9.

The hellion had wandered off again. Lancelot seethed, especially irritated because it was time for them to head back to the fort. He had taken his cousin out to collect flowers – carrying that damned basket again – because he hadn't been doing anything else of importance. Dagonet and Tristan were doing a once over around the perimeter. Woads were causing a bit more trouble lately than they would have liked.

Clouds gathered in the sky, and the fading sun was near to its disappearance for the day. Lancelot knew it was bound to rain, and soon. And if he didn't find his cousin they would be caught in a downpour of harsh rain, thunder and lightning. And Raja was afraid of thunder and lightning.

"Dammit!" he hissed. "Raja!" he called. He heard Horus caw from up above and his tension eased a bit. The bird would find her. He saddled Adonis, and called to Odin who was near. They followed Horus. A quarter of an hour later, the wind whipping in his face, he found his cousin petting a brownish-red fox. The fox heard the hooves of the horses and fled from Raja's arms.

"Firenze!" Raja yelled. She stood up and watched her friend run away. She turned around and saw her cousin a few paces away, looking down at her, his face flushed with frustration. She put her hands on her hips. "You scared him away!"

Lancelot's jaw clenched so tightly that he heard them crack. "That is the least of my worries!" he growled. "Why do you always run off?! I go off to relieve myself, and when I come back, you're gone!"

Raja's indignation simmered. "I'm sorry, but I saw Firenze and I had to say hello."

He cussed under his breath. Damn her sincerity! But this time, no, no, no. He wouldn't stand for it! "I don't care, dammit."

Raja winced at his biting tone.

Don't cave in, Lancelot, he ordered himself. He was about to tell her they had to go, but thunder boomed in the sky. Raja yelped and ran near a tree, crouching down with her hands over her head. He could see her shaking from his standpoint. He dismounted and walked to her. "Come on, we have to go," he said, putting a comforting hand on her back. He picked her up and put her on Odin. He grabbed the other horse's reins after he had remounted Adonis and headed back to the fort.

The wind suddenly died down, but the clouds didn't spread. Raja looked up at the sky. After a little over a year, she still wasn't used to Britain's violent storms. The most it ever rained in Egypt was during the winter when the downpour would flood the Nile, the water saturating the earth to aide farming when spring came around.

"The sky is falling," she said to him.

He arched a dark eyebrow at her. "Is that why you're scared?" he asked, forgetting about the fact that she had disappeared.

She didn't answer for a moment. "Sounds like the booming I heard...outside...back then."

Lancelot took a moment to contemplate what she meant by "back then." Then he figured that she was referring to the day her parents died. He nodded and said nothing.

"My basket!" she blurted after a while. "I left my basket!"

Lancelot hadn't taken her basket when he had gone off to look for her. He sighed and looked back the way they had come, pressing his hand against the side of his stomach. He shouldn't have eaten those damned berries a few days ago, and it was still catching up with him.

Raja clicked her tongue and turned Odin back around.

"We can go back for it later," he said, already knowing she wouldn't be deterred.

"It could blow away by then!" she said, already cantering away.

He cursed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and spurred Adonis after her. Not long after, they reached the copse where her basket should have been, but it wasn't there. Raja pursed her lips in frustration, scanning the area for her basket that she had made herself. Lancelot just trailed after her when she trotted off in search of her damned basket.

"We're not going too far," he warned her. "Ten more minutes and we head back." Not to mention that it was getting chilly, at least what he knew was chilly for Raja. And autumn was approaching, and he didn't want her to get sick. _When the hell did I start worrying like a mother hen?_ he badgered himself.

They came upon a lake, and there was a woman there with Raja's basket. The female glanced up, stopping midway from putting an acorn in the basket. Lancelot noticed her attractiveness. She had long brown hair that fell to her butt, green eyes, pale skin that was flawless and fair.

"Oh," she said hesitantly, "hello."

Raja glanced at Lancelot. She wasn't good with strangers.

"Hello to you," he replied with a slight curl of his lips and a glimmer in his eyes. "What are you doing way out here and by yourself?"

She flicked her eyes to him and then to the small girl on a large horse that dwarfed her considerably. She suspected that he couldn't be too dangerous if a small girl was with him.

"I was just," – she felt stupid – "collecting acorns."

Lancelot didn't lose his sly grin. "Where'd you get the basket?"

Her brow rose in surprise. "Oh, I uh...found it not too long ago...actually." She had been putting the acorns on the apron tied around her waist; it was only by sheer luck that she had come upon the basket.

"It's my cousin's," he said, tipping his head towards the girl.

"Oh!" she said, aghast. "I'm so sorry."

"That's okay," Raja said. "You can keep it."

Lancelot was momentarily taken aback. One minute she had been so worried about finding the basket, and then she just gives it up so easily.

"Oh no, I couldn't," the woman replied.

Raja smiled. "I have other baskets. You keep that one." Odin sidled, perturbed at being kept stationary, he wanted to get back to the stables, get an apple, have dinner. Raja patted him.

"Do you stay at the fortress?" Lancelot asked.

"Yes, actually," she said. "I really should be heading back." She turned her head up to the billowing clouds, shivering.

"Come back with us," Raja said. "You really shouldn't be out here by yourself."

Lancelot looked at his cousin wryly. "You might try telling yourself that sometime."

Raja gave a prim "hmmph."

But, well, he could make this work to his advantage. Silently, he thanked his cousin's open caring for strangers. He opened his mouth to offer the woman a seat behind him, but his cousin spoke first.

"Do you want to ride with me?" Raja asked. "Odin's really nice." She patted her friend again.

Oh no, the little girl would not thwart his plans. "I think it best if she rides with me," he told his cousin, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Raja thought for a moment, thinking of the woman's comfort. "Yes, but you can still ride with me and Odin if you want. But Lancelot's a really good horseman; he won't let anything happen to you. He takes really good care of me." She nodded her head in the affirmative.

The woman smiled sweetly at Lancelot, obviously taken with his tenderness that his cousin had lamented about.

_Bless your heart Raja,_ Lancelot thought as he offered his hand for the woman to mount behind him.

"I'll hold the basket for you," Raja said. "It will be easier for you to hold on."

_Yes!_ Lancelot turned his head to hide his satisfied smirk.

"Thank you," the lady said. She wrapped her arms around Lancelot.

"Tighter," Lancelot said, "for your safety," he added, relishing the firm hold she had around his waist.

"What's your name?" Raja asked. "I'm Raja, and this is Lancelot."

"Shia," she said.

"Shia," Raja said her name slowly, trying out the name as she always did with new acquaintances. They spurred their horses in a trot. "That's a really pretty name."

"Thank you. Yours is pretty, too. I've never heard it before."

Raja sat up straighter, pleased that the woman liked her. "Because I'm from Egypt," she said proudly.

"Really!" Shia said, impressed. That would account for the light brown tone of the small girl's skin. She ran her eyes over the raven waves and the white streak of hair among them.

When they were nearer the fort, the wind picked up again, the thunder sounded and Raja cowered. Odin, sensing her unease, slowed down and huffed air from his nostrils. Lancelot reached for his reins and said a comforting word to Raja in Sarmatian. In minutes, they rode into the stables.

"Tristan and Dagonet are back!" Raja exclaimed happily, seeing their horses.

Lancelot dismounted and offered Shia his hand again. She lost her balance and slid against him, her breasts sliding down his chest, her hips against his, then her feet touched the floor. A stable hand led Adonis away.

"Clumsy of me," she said, somewhat breathless as Lancelot stared into her eyes intently.

"Are you okay, Shia?" Raja had hopped off Odin and was now standing in front of the pair, unwittingly breaking their deep connection.

The two of them blinked and looked down.

"I'm fine," Shia told her, a grateful smile on her face. She took the proffered basket that Raja held up to her. "Are you sure you do not want your basket back?"

"No, no, no. It's yours," Raja said.

"Well, thank you both again for escorting me back. I really must be going," Shia said.

Lancelot was about to say something again, but his cousin interrupted. "You shouldn't walk alone in the streets. It's dark," she said. "We can walk you." She took Lancelot's hand.

_I'd rather walk her myself, but good enough, cousin_, he thought. But he wouldn't get a word in edgewise, or be able to put on his charm with his little cousin there. That wouldn't be appropriate. He couldn't very well just shoo her off...

"Oh, there you are," Ardeth's baritone voice sounded in the building. "I was getting worried."

"Uncle Ardeth!" Raja ran to him and he picked her up. "This is Shia," she said. "We found her in the woods."

"Hello," Ardeth said, nodding his head respectfully.

Shia blushed; most people were intimidated by the Egyptian's raw, foreign presence. She managed a polite greeting, then turned to look at Lancelot.

"We're going to walk her home," Raja told her uncle.

"That is nice of you, little one," he said. He glanced at Lancelot whom he could see was trying to stay as close to Shia as possible.

The young man was sending as subtle a hint as possible to the Egyptian.

"I think Lancelot is capable of accompanying Shia to her home, Raja," Ardeth said. She was about to protest, but her uncle said, "And it is time for dinner, I can hear your tummy rumbling."

"Okay," Raja said regretfully. "My cousin will take good care of you Shia."

Shia smiled, a tingle going down her spine seeing Lancelot smile as well. He offered her his arm and she shyly took it. He said a silent thanks to Ardeth and the two men shared a conspiratorial connection. Lancelot and Shia said their farewells and they were gone.

Ardeth stayed with Raja while she tended to Odin, and when the steed was comfortable, she gave him a kiss and said goodbye.

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"...she's really nice," Raja was saying to Tristan as she finished braiding the last piece of his hair.

For the past half hour he'd listened to his little friend tell him about how she and her cousin had found Shia in the woods. He was glad Raja could not see his smile as she chattered – the little girl had no idea how she had helped Lancelot get Shia into his greedy clutches. But such was Raja's innocence.

"I'm really glad you and Dag got back, Trissy," she said, taking a seat across from him. She could hear the small trickle of raindrops outside. "You two could have caught a chill."

"Eh," he said, slipping on the socks Raja had brought him.

A small tap of knuckles sounded on the open door. Ardeth stood there calmly. "I think it is passed someone's bedtime," he said after greeting Tristan.

"Oh no!" Raja exclaimed. "Really, Uncle Ardeth, I'm not sleepy at all!"

Tristan smirked. She had stifled a few yawns while speaking to him.

Nod the Mouse pattered passed Ardeth's booted feet, all the way to Raja. She bent to pick him up. Her Uncle's entreaty was forgotten as she petted her miniature friend. Ardeth cleared his throat gently.

Raja muttered something under her breath, but hopped off the chair nonetheless. She gave Tristan a hug and followed her Uncle out the door with one final wave to Trissy.

"Why do I have to go to bed so early, Uncle?" she asked.

A rumble of amusement fluttered in his chest. "Little one, you always say you are not tired, but we both know that you are." Raja scuttled under the thick duvet, Nod scurried under one of the pillows.

The small Egyptian stifled a yawn. Ardeth selected a short story from the shelf and read to her until her eyes drooped and finally remained closed. He kissed her on the forehead, turned out the lamp and quietly left the room.

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"You look extra chipper this morning, Lancelot," Arthur noted.

And the dark knight thought he had good reason to be. Gods, that Shia was a good kisser, and knew exactly what to do with those lips and that tongue. To his disappointment, however, he didn't get any further than the customary fondling underneath their clothes, but soon. Shia had told him that she had to get up extra early the next morning, so he had to leave before they could truly start to get to know one another.

Lancelot and Arthur entered the large room and took their seats at the round table, a few minutes later the rest of the men walked in.

"I had a good night," Lancelot replied.

Arthur smirked. "With the young girl you and Raja found in the forest yesterday?"

Lancelot opened his mouth to answer, then blew out a huff of air. "Did she tell everyone?"

"Shia is a nice girl," Arthur said.

Lancelot stopped abruptly. "You know her?"

"Yes, I see her in the chapel." Arthur smirked, his jade eyes glittering at his friend's slack-jawed surprise.

"She's Christian?"

"Yes, Lancelot," he chuckled.

The meeting started, Dagonet and Tristan discussed their previous day's findings thoroughly. To everyone's dismay, there was more than one too many villages being ransacked by the natives.

"...targeting villages with a large population of Christians," Tristan was saying.

"Ach, dying in the name of God is a noble cause," Lancelot quirked.

All but Arthur took some humor in Lancelot's comment. During their years on Britain, they were regularly inquired about their religion and if they had converted to Christianity. They remained steadfast Pagans, and received nothing less than expressions of distaste from any Roman who believed in God.

Arthur shot reprimanding jade eyes at Lancelot. He was used to his closest friend mocking his religion and his religious convictions. He took it in stride.

The meeting wrapped up and they were free to go about their day. Arthur headed to Ardeth's study, the rest to the tavern for breakfast. It wasn't too crowded this morning.

"Tristan, Lancelot!" Raja waved from her table. "Bors, Dag!"

The four men walked to the table, and Lancelot's eyes brightened to see Shia sitting across from his cousin, sharing breakfast. She looked different to him now, since he'd found out she was of the Christian faith only a few hours ago. He immediately took a seat next to his cousin, wanting to face Shia. Tristan sat on the other side of Raja, Dagonet and Bors on the other side of the table. Raja introduced them all, not letting her cousin get a word in yet.

Shia glanced shyly at Lancelot, with a twinkle of naughtiness in her eyes.

Raja leaned towards Tristan. "I told you she was pretty."

Tristan gave an uninterested peek at the woman through his brown bangs. Bors greeted Vanora with hearty words, taking her hand in a gentlemanly fashion, and kissed her knuckles. The beautiful redhead rolled her eyes but smiled.

Lancelot rubbed his stomach, trying to squelch the gurgle that had nothing to do with hunger. Seeing the discomfort on his face, Shia asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing," he answered with a swarthy smile.

Raja put a small hand on his wrist. "Is your tummy still hurting? I told you not to eat those berries-"

Knowing where she was going with this, however well-intentioned she was, Lancelot interrupted her, not about to let his cousin announce that he'd been spending more time in the privy than he would have liked. "It's fine," he said.

The three other knights were turned in their direction. They knew about the berry mishap, too.

"You tell him, Raja," Bors said with a large smile.

Lancelot shot him a deadly glare, continuing to eat his breakfast with as much casualness as he could muster. Shia was glancing from one to the other, wondering what was going on. But she did not press the issue

"I can get some more of the tonic," Raja went on. "It will settle your stomach."

"I said I'm _fine_," he stressed, boring his eyes into her pointedly.

Raja pursed her lips into a straight line. "You don't have to be mean about it," she snapped, getting up in a flurry. She walked off hurriedly with Bors' laughter ringing out in the tavern.

Lancelot's face was flushed a deep crimson with embarrassment. "She doesn't know what she's talking about," he said to Shia, waving a hand carelessly.

Her eyes glittered with humor, nodding without another word. "I think it's very sweet for her to care so much."

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It was muddy in the streets from last night's downpour and it looked as if there would be more of it today. Raja dodged the puddles as best she could, letting the cool wind flow passed her face. She made it back to the keep with little injury, heading to her uncle's study. She heard his and Arthur's voices and paused, considering interrupting. She didn't have to say anything, she could just go sit in there, but she wasn't sure if they were having one of those conversations that her uncle said were private. The door was open...but still.

She stopped and listened for a moment, she heard the name Pelagius, a man in Rome who was very close to Arthur and whom her Uncle Ardeth was acquainted with as well. The two men often talked of religion and philosophy, Pelagius's teachings. Her Uncle Ardeth would teach her about different religions. She once asked him what religion he belonged to, and he told her that he considered himself a more spiritual person than a religious one.

"What is the difference?" she had asked.

"Well," Ardeth had said, thinking of a way to put it in clear terms, "I do not adhere to beliefs from just one religion."

Raja scrunched her face in contemplation. "You don't...listen to just one god?"

"Yes, that is one way of putting it, little one. I use experiences in my life to shape my morals and beliefs."

Raja remembered that day, and had thought of that conversation many times. Her father had been Pagan, and she, her mother and father always practiced the celebrations every year, just the three of them.

In the end, she just decided to go to her room and take a nap.

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In Lancelot's barracks, he and Shia were engaged in a passionate conquest of the tongue. He had her pinned to the bed, his large hand sliding up her skirt, ready to explore the moist nether lips that saturated the downy hair on her sex.

Shia ran her hands down his bare back, feeling the toned muscles that rippled with his every move. Her erect nipples were uncomfortable beneath the cloth of her blouse. She felt him fiddle with the laces of his breeches, then his thick length against her thigh.

"Wait," she panted, "Lancelot."

He groaned, in wanting and in frustration. She had stopped him yesterday, too. "Hmm?"

She giggled and he continued to writhe against her. She pushed him back gently. "Stop, stop. I mustn't go that far."

Lancelot raised himself up to look down at her face. "That far?"

"Of course!" she said as if he should know. "I mean, I will only lay with a man who is my husband."

His dark eyes widened, and with a baffled expression he raised himself off of her to situate his breeches. "You don't have a husband do you?" Not that that had ever really stopped him before.

Still all smiles, she pushed herself up and straightened her clothes properly, patting down her hair. "I wouldn't be here with you if I did."

He said nothing for several moments.

Shia sighed and put a warm hand on his shoulder. "I did not mean to tease. But it is against the teachings of the Bible to lay with a man when a woman is not married."

Lancelot grunted. "Oh yes, you're a Christian."

Shia heard the faintest note of disdain in his words. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Arthur Castus. My cousin told him about meeting you. He told me this morning." He retied the laces of his pants. It had been worth a try. "Were you hoping to keep it a secret from me?"

"No!" she said indignantly. She had known who he was when she had seen him the previous day. How could a woman not know Lancelot the Dark Knight, the First Knight. He conquered all the women in bed, and she could not help but be intrigued by him. The few times she had spent having long discussions with Arthur, she had tried to glean information from him about his knights, hoping that he would speak in particular of Lancelot.

"Well, nevertheless" he scoffed a bit, "this is very un-Christian like of you." Yet a dark eyebrow was arched in jest. "I gather you'll be praying for a lot of forgiveness tonight."

Shia relaxed against the headboard. "I don't believe there is anything wrong with what I am doing. But I do not believe in pre-marital sex."

Lancelot stood up and grabbed his tunic from off the floor and slipped it over his head, hiding the disgruntled roll of his eyes. Christians were the most wishy-washy individuals he had ever met in his life. Always finding some sort of loophole to escape from "sin." Justifying deeds they knew, deep down, were not in adherence to the teachings of the Bible, so they could partake in them without a vat of churning guilt.

"Don't be angry," she pleaded.

He shook his head. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

He slipped his jerkin on and buckled the belt to hold it together, and ignored her entreaty. "You do know I'm not Christian, right?"

"I'd assumed that."

He smirked and shook a playful finger at her. "You, lady, are a naughty woman."

Shia sighed and stood up, slipping her shoes back on. "Let's go for a walk."

He paused for a moment before shrugging in acquiescence. He was very turned off by this shift of events. Always, he knew he had to be careful for the Christian women who dabbled with warriors. They were tricky ladies. But he liked this one, the gods knew why. Arthur, although he may be his closest friend, was often all the Christian he could take. It was the man's religious ideals that baffled and plagued him. Arthur had often taken them on out of the way excursions to help people who had nothing to do with them. He would pray for hours instead of speaking to him of what ailed him. He was certainly more likely to receive an answer from someone standing in front of him than an invisible and nonexistent entity in the sky.

As they walked through the streets and out of the south gate, Shia held onto his elbow. The sun was out now and as they entered the forest she began to talk of her beliefs. He listened, not commenting, not knowing what to say if he did want to speak anyway. She enjoyed the teachings of God and it often gave her much peace in times of sorrow and confusion.

"What do you do, Lancelot, when you are sorrowful?" she turned her head up to him, wondering in the back of her mind if he had heard a word she had said.

His jaw ticked for less than a second.

"Do you ever pray to the god you believe in?" she prompted.

"No," he answered abruptly. Checking himself, he wound himself into his offhanded way of discussing these matters. "I'm sure they have more important things to do than listen to me complain about things they care nothing about."

Shia smiled somewhat solemnly. "I know I've only just met you a day past, and I hope you don't think me too forward in saying this-"

"I think we've gotten to know each other rather well as of late," Lancelot commented slyly.

His comment afforded him a blush from her pretty face. "Well, yes," she laughed. "But I was going to say that I glimpse a deep sense of melancholy in you."

Lancelot narrowed his eyes, and chuckled wryly. "I am not melancholy."

"Everyone gets melancholy at times," she pointed out.

They continued to walk without words, Shia shifting her eyes to glance at his profile. His face was set in hard ridges and she noticed his jaw clenching and relaxing.

"What _do_ you believe in, Lancelot?" she finally questioned, the wind carrying her words in all directions.

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"Are you leaving extra early tomorrow?" Raja asked Tristan as they played Chess.

He nodded his head as she moved a pawn.

Tristan's move. "Checkmate."

"No!" Raja exclaimed, scanning the entire board, seeing where she had gone wrong.

Tristan grinned, sitting back triumphantly as he sipped his ale.

"See, Nod," she said, turning to the mouse on her shoulder. "What did I do?"

"You lost," Tristan said blithely.

"Thank you, Trissy. I noticed that." But she grinned and took a grape from the bowl on the table.

The fire crackled as they sat in companionable quietude. "Do you want to hear some more of the _Ramayana_?" she asked.

For the last week, she had read to him about the Sanskrit epic by a poet named Valmiki. With 24,000 verses or seven cantos, she read it to him carefully and enthusiastically, imitating different voices for each character. Tristan got up and took book three from the top shelf. Book three was the Book of the Forest which narrated Rama's time in the forest and the abduction of his wife, Sita, by Ravana, the king of Lanka.

About an hour later, Ardeth knocked on the door and told her it was time for bed. They hadn't finished yet but Raja promised that they would read some more tomorrow.

As her Uncle tucked her in, she asked him something she'd been pondering all day. "Uncle Ardeth," she began, "one of the Ten Commandments is that a person should not kill, right?"

"Yes."

"Then why does Arthur kill?"

Ardeth paused for a moment. Raja stroked Nod's small head with her thumb while she waited patiently for her Uncle to answer.

"Sometimes, and it is unfortunate, killing is a part of life," he answered. "And the life Arthur leads, well, it cannot be helped."

"But...he doesn't _have_ to. He could do nothing. If a person is going to be a Christian, that person can't just pick and choose which teachings to follow, right?"

Ardeth smiled at his niece's sharp intellect. "Even if one wholly believes in their faith, life constantly presents obstacles that conflict with said faith. Decisions such as these are very difficult to make, and no one is perfect. Not even Arthur. He does his best."

"Oh, I know!" she said vehemently. "Artie is a very good man. I was just wondering. That must be sad, to do things you know are wrong, but have to..." – she paused – "and have to...I don't know how to say it."

"I think I know what you mean, little one."

"Good, good. Yes." Raja yawned. Then she froze, thinking of Tristan having to go out scouting again tomorrow because there was talk of a lot of Woads being around.

"What is it, Raja?" her Uncle asked, worried at her suddenly wide eyes.

"The Woads. Will you have to leave again if they come here?"

What she meant by "leave" she meant go out and fight. Remembering the last time he had done so, he'd returned to a hysterical niece on the verge of an emotional collapse. But only because she had not known he was leaving in the first place. "If it comes to that, yes," he told her.

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Shia nuzzled her cheek against the hairy chest. Her smaller body was warmed by his, her head was tucked under his neck, she heard his steady breathing along with the trickle of raindrops outside. She moaned in contentment, finally opening her eyes to the early morning. Arthur's jade eyes flickered open to meet hers, a lazy smile cast upon his lips. After she had gone for a walk with Lancelot yesterday, a few hours later she bumped into Arthur and they got to talking, the time running away from them. There was a book in his room that he had been eager to show her, she followed him up, and now, here she was, cozied up to his muscular frame.

"Morning," Arthur said, his deep voice husky.

"Good morning, Arthur," she crooned in return, rising up to peck him on his grizzly chin. She continued the ascent until her lips met his, and her body rested atop his.

Arthur skimmed her smooth back with his hands, down until they reached the rise of her buttocks, then the firm hills. He felt himself hardening. He had had these feelings for Shia since he first met her. She was a good Christian woman, and it was nice to be able to speak of their common beliefs. Arthur had hoped he would be able to make love to her again after that night four months ago.

Arthur flipped her over so he covered her body, and as he was about to enter her, horns sounded outside and there was a pounding on his door.

"Arthur!" Lancelot shouted, barging in without waiting for an answer. He took in the nude forms of his friend and the woman he had been half-naked with just the previous day. But more urgent things swept the scenario and the hypocrisy of Shia from his mind.

Arthur was already scrambling out of bed, reaching for his clothes. Shia covered herself with the sheets, shocked at seeing Lancelot, how he must think her a complete liar – which she was, but she had her reasons.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Shia, her senses coming together, hastily put her clothes back on and followed a hurried Arthur down and around the halls, and out of the keep. He headed straight for the stables where horses and weapons were swiftly being ordered. Armor was being donned, grim, calculating expressions masked the knights' faces. She heard a whimper behind her.

Shia turned to see Raja near a red-headed woman, tears falling down her cheeks as she watched the Egyptian man readying himself for battle.

"Shh, it will be all right, Raja," Vanora kneeled beside her, running a soothing hand across her back.

Raja had awakened with the horns, her heart beating in her chest. She ran out of her bedroom in a flash, straight to her Uncle who was already dressed.

Now, in the flurry of the stables, Ardeth walked over to his niece, kneeling and saying something in Arabic to her. She only had a pair of thick socks on, breeches and a long tunic. Her hair was mussed and tousled from sleep, her face a veil of distress. Raja wrapped her arms around Ardeth, and it took gentle prodding from Vanora to pry her off. He kissed her on the forehead and mounted Ra.

Shia listened to the stark commands Arthur gave his men. She scanned each of their faces, lingering in particular on Lancelot's. His face was set in hard angles, his eyes were darker in this atmosphere, and he appeared downright lethal in his armor, his twin blades strapped to his back.

Raja waved a small hand. The men said goodbye to her, Bors was cheerful in his departure to the small girl. As they rode out of the stables, Raja broke from Vanora's hold, running out of the stables, her socks instantly damp from the streets' rain and mud.

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Once again, the Romans had taken their sweet time in taking part in battle. The knights and Ardeth came out unscathed, but with the clouds and drizzle it was more grim than usual. They rode back to the fort in silence, sweaty and sticky, smelling of blood and death.

Slaughtering the enemy had taken some of the edge off Lancelot, but now that the battle was over his mind drifted to the memory of seeing Shia with Arthur that morning, naked, in bed. He scoffed. Didn't believe in pre-marital sex. Sure. How innocent she had acted while they had taken that little walk, and she had asked him what his beliefs were. And how she had quoted Christian platitudes when she inferred from his responses that he didn't quite believe in anything much. Which was true. Being covered in another man's blood made it easy to drown in darkness, the less one believed in, the less one had to feel bad about, feel regret about.

He took a glance at Arthur, his friend's face set in haggard lines, probably feeling guilty for the lives he had taken, trying to convince himself that it was for a higher cause, so it had served a purpose that outweighed the multitude of deaths. Lancelot knew Arthur would pray for forgiveness before the man stripped himself of his armor and sodden clothes. And what was the point of praying to God to forgive him when he knew he was going to have to go out and do it again?

His thoughts segued back to Shia. Would she be there in the courtyard to greet Arthur home? Perhaps, Arthur would skip his prayer session and make love to Shia instead. They could even pray together. As minutes passed, Lancelot found himself becoming angrier.

So, Shia could sleep with Arthur but not him? It was perfectly fine if a woman didn't want to sleep with a man until she was married, but it was just cheap to lie about it. It wasn't really a surprise, ever since he had come to this godforsaken country Christians had seen him and his kin as no less than heathens or barbarians. And it was only sheer luck that they were given a Commander such as Arthur, one who believed that men were not born to be slaves, and should be treated as equals. But for all Arthur's convictions it didn't change that he was a slave, and that no matter what he did or said, Rome would label him a barbaric heathen.

And was he so barbaric that Shia felt him unworthy to lie with? He could have any woman he wanted, and it infuriated him that he felt slighted by one insignificant female. She wasn't even the prettiest woman around. It was that she had lied, the hypocrisy of her actions. Two faced. Two faced Christians. How she had tried to sweetly understand him, heal him, she would pray for him, pray that he gained some peace in his life. Trying to show him the beauty of the land while they had walked, trying to instill some sense of faith in him towards life. The life he led in which he had to kill to survive.

"What's the matter, Lancelot?" Bors gruffed. "Miss a target back there?"

Lancelot looked at him sardonically, painting his lips with a cocky grin. "I never miss."

Their mounts trotted through the open gates, down the long dirt path and into the courtyard. Raja was waiting with Vanora by her side. The little girl was now dressed, but her eyes were still rimmed with shed tears.

A pang of something he could not identify stabbed his heart when Ardeth swooped his cousin into his arms and more of her tears broke free. Even with the blood on Bors, Vanora kissed him, looking at the rough man fondly. Now, his cousin was giving Tristan a hug, Dagonet, Bors, Arthur.

Shia stood nearby, approaching Arthur, saying something Lancelot could not hear. He felt soft skin touch his hand.

He looked down to see Raja's arms stretched up. With a heavy smile, he bent down and hugged her, but so briefly it was like a whisper. He noticed a smear of blood on her finger, grabbed her hand and wiped it off on his cloak.

It seemed everything was moving in slow motion. Finally, he caught Shia's eyes.

"I'm glad you arrived back safely, Lancelot," she said in her smooth voice.

A harsh scoff came from his throat. "Then you must be really glad Arthur is safe as well. Well enough for you to fuck, hmm?" He brushed passed her, walking single-mindedly to his quarters.

---------------------------------------

A few hours later, Raja was situating the vase with the flowers on Tristan's nightstand. "There we go." She turned and smiled at him.

Tristan shook his head at the set of the vase, the only feminine object to grace his room. Funny, how those light colored petals brightened up the room, and how homely it was to smell them when he woke up in the morning – not that he would ever confess such a thing.

Raja plopped herself on his lap. "I was scared."

"Why?"

"Because you might not have come back. It's scary." She rubbed her swollen eyes and sniffed.

He nodded mutely. She squeezed him one more time and hopped off. "I'm going to go check on Lancelot now. Do you want to play Chess later?"

"I'll set up the board," he said.

-------------------------------------------

In his bedroom, Lancelot stared at the immaculate small flowers in the vase on the table. It was a small vase, one that had occupied his room for over a year. He had yet to shed himself of his armor, the blood was crusty and dark on both garb and skin.

Those flowers and their sweetness mocked him. They didn't belong in his room. They didn't...belong. Lancelot heard the smash of the vase on the ground, not realizing he had broken it until it was broken. A moment later a soft knock was on the door.

A whoosh of air hit him as he swung it open, looking down at his cousin for the second time that day.

Raja said nothing as she stared up, her eyes flashed to the broken vase. "Oh your vase broke!" She hurried passed him and picked up the small pieces, then gathered up the fallen petals. "I'll get you another one."

Her concern was too much. Her generosity was too much. "Don't bother," he snapped.

"It's okay," she said. "I was going to replace the flowers anyway, they were getting droopy and-"

"Would you shut up about the flowers?"

Raja startled at his fury. "But-"

"I don't need your flowers," he spat, looming towards her. "I don't need you in my room, trying to make me feel better with some fucking flowers. Do you think this-" – he gestured towards what she was holding – "helps anybody? Any of us?"

Raja bit her bottom lip, and a chill went down her spine. "I thought.."

"Yeah, you thought." He pivoted sharply. "Try not to think, okay? Because it doesn't help. Your stupid flowers, your hugs, holding our hands, the socks you make, they don't do a damned thing, all right?"

The little Egyptian hung her head, fighting back her tears.

"Look at me!" When she looked up the dried blood stood before her. "Do you see this? Huh? Your hugs and flowers don't make this go away. Do you think your tears make anyone feel better when we return covered in blood?"

Raja's face began to crumble, and though she had cried a million tears already, more began to fall.

"Do you like seeing me ride away, riding back?" Lancelot's voice rose, and he dimly saw through his fury the person he was taking it out on, the one person who should never be on the receiving end of his anger, because this was the one person who deserved it the least.

"...riding away...riding back...blood..."

Raja threw her head back and screamed. "Nooo!" Her legs buckled beneath her and she curled up in a ball, yelling.

He hadn't expected her to scream so shrilly, it made him take a step back, snapping him out of his tirade. "Raja," he put his hand on her shoulder, trying to undo the damage he'd wrought.

"No! No! No!" she screamed.

Ardeth, always attuned for any sense of distress in his niece appeared in the doorway and was instantly by her side. Lancelot took three steps back until he bumped against the table.

"What happened?" Ardeth asked him as he took the tight bundle of small limbs in his arms.

"I...didn't..." Lancelot couldn't respond.

Ardeth waited a fraction of a second for Lancelot to explain, but when no words were forthcoming he gave a curt nod and took his niece from the room, more intent on calming her than extracting a story.

Lancelot's legs had dumbly followed Ardeth to the door where Tristan and Arthur were standing just outside of.

Tristan gave him a tight, blank stare. Arthur looked at him inquisitively.

"What'd you do this time, Lancelot?" Bors gruff voice sounded behind Arthur.

Dagonet's tall frame came into view, and the four men had their own accusatory expressions laid out in different ways in Lancelot's direction. Arthur had his questioning jade eyes on him, his brow slightly wrinkled, wanting to know what happened so he could understand and absolve Lancelot of his misdeed. There was Dagonet with his somber eyes, the peacemaker, the big friendly giant who had his arms crossed over his chest, his owns eyes slit in censure. Bors with his incredulous smirk, his gruff exterior imposing, ready to give Lancelot a good one in the face at his stupidity. Then there was Tristan, ever Raja's protector. Lancelot had never known anyone who could express so many looks in one blank, hard stare, a person who could condemn him left and right without saying a word.

He sighed. Nothing, Lancelot thought. I didn't _do_ anything. That was the problem. All he had was angry words inside of him, a heavy ball of nothing that weighed upon his chest. And not too far away, he could hear his cousin's agonizing howls winding themselves around his heart.

-------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Ardeth knocked on Lancelot's door. He was sitting on his table, clean now with fresh clothing. The ruins of the vase and smashed flowers were laid before him on the table. He turned towards the imperious Egyptian. Lancelot had no words.

With silent footsteps Ardeth stood two feet from him, giving the younger man a moment to speak first, explain and defend.

"How's Raja?" Lancelot asked in a defeated tone, finally meeting Ardeth's stare.

"Resting," Ardeth answered, clipped.

He nodded.

"I will not ask you what happened. But what I could glean from Raja's fairly coherent mumblings, I say this to you," – he made sure he had Lancelot's complete and utter attention, - "Do not stay in the cell, when the door is wide open. If you cannot see the good in you, at least accept the fact that she sees it."

----------------------------------------------

He wanted to drown out Ardeth's all-too-true words. His guilt over what he'd said to Raja was all consuming, and he had never hated himself more for his actions. That was the problem with caring so deeply for another, you came to regret things you said, the memory like bile in your throat, swallowing it down so it burned like acid. He drank in his room until he was in a stupor. He had taken his anger out on the wrong person, and with determination he went to see the person who should have been on the receiving end in the first place.

With as much speed as his faltering equilibrium could grant him, he headed down the dark streets and alleys to Shia's small boarding. It was late, he hadn't taken that into account, she answered the door in a beige, ankle length shift, her long hair streaming over her shoulders in rivulets. Before she could say a word, he pushed passed her and sat on the bed.

Shia closed the door and leaned against it with her arms crossed. She felt exposed, and to her chagrin, her body responded the instant she had saw Lancelot standing before her.

"You," he began, "are loose woman." And his eyes met hers, the flickering candlelight dancing in his dark eyes.

"I beg your pardon!" she said indignantly.

He was in front of her in a flash, trapping her against the door, his arms on either side of her. Despite the alcohol on his breath, the scent of fresh bath oils wafted from his hair and skin. He pressed against her and she gasped when she felt his erection against her abdomen.

He chuckled dryly. "You want me. But you didn't take me."

She swallowed a lump in her throat, aware of his manhood and the sensuality he exuded. She had wanted him, he intrigued her from the start, the tales she'd heard of him from village gossip were shocking and stimulating. He was a Pagan, so foreign, dark and handsome, mysterious, she was infatuated before she had even met him.

Lancelot trailed one fingertip down her neck to the hollow between her collarbone. Slowly, he unlaced the top of her nightgown, exposing the swells of her breasts.

"When I had my fingers up your cunt," – she winced at his crudeness – "I can't believe I didn't notice that you were not a virgin. I must have been..." – he pulled back the fold of her shift just a bit to stroke the hill of her breast – "too distracted by your whimpers of sinful pleasure in my ears."

Shia pursed her lips, gathering her strength to fend him off. She had wanted to feel him out those days, contemplating, an internal struggle, whether or not she should lay with him. Arthur had let slip to her in one of their deeper conversations that his closest friend was not in good faith towards life. Shia had wanted to prove to Lancelot that a person could adhere to their beliefs, and stand strong against ultimate temptation. But at the same time, she wanted just a little taste of what the dark knight had to offer.

"I do not appreciate you coming-"

"No," he interrupted her, "it is you who did most of the coming." He slipped his hand into her gown, stroked the hard nub of her nipple. She shuddered under his touch.

Shia took a deep breath and pushed him away, retreating further into the room.

"Resisting temptation?" he taunted. "Arthur, my good friend that he is, fell for your wiles." He stroked his well trimmed facial hair. "Do you only fuck Christians?"

She took steps away from him as he advanced, the back of her knees hit the bed. "I apologize for deceiving you, Lancelot."

"I'm sure."

She'd wanted to get close to Arthur, perhaps they could have fallen in love. She was lonely, not getting any younger, and he would make a good husband. And he was staunch in his faith, a good man through and through. She had been a good daughter all her life, finally free of restrictions when her parents died, despite how she missed them. She could live the way she wanted to, break free of the coils that bound her to a monotonous existence. The Sarmatian knights had captured her attention from the start, but her father had always preached that they were dangerous, heathens. Which made them all the more tempting. Before he had died, her father made her promise that she would only marry a good Christian man.

Lancelot's lips were a hair's breadth from hers, his body heated her skin, his exotic persona burrowed under her skin like blazing feathers. She would resist. Resist. But she found her own mouth pressing against his, his tongue pushed passed the barrier of her teeth, finding its way through to her mouth with nibbles at her bottom lip. He embraced her, cupped her behind, and fell atop her on the bed. He was the forbidden, a woman-user, he had certainly made his way through countless whores, fathered enough bastards to create a small army, but her legs wrapped around his waist, and without even shedding one garment of clothing, he unlaced his pants and pushed his sex into her and she gasped.

Lancelot smiled against her ear, and she could feel him mocking her as he filled her and stretched her. "You Christians," – he said as he began to thrust inside of her – "are so ready to abandon your beliefs for a moment of pleasure."

She gasped, her mind was hazy. He was heavy on her, and she stared into his dark, unfeeling eyes, yes, he was taunting her, proving his words true.

Through his relentless pounding inside of her, she succumbed to the devil, climaxing with such a fierce orgasm that she saw stars. But he had not come yet, and his movements became harsher, faster, merciless until he filled her with his warm seed. He didn't move, they both breathed heavily.

"I suppose you'll pray to God for forgiveness now," he said, and the words stung her.

No man had every been so cold to her after making love. She came to her senses and pushed him off, bolting off the bed, instantly feeling the aftermath of their actions trickling down her thigh. She tried to appear as unrepentant as possible as her eyes skimmed over his shiny phallus. He stood with a predatory grace, his eyes never wavering from hers as he tucked his sex back into his breeches and laced them up.

She was shivering, but not from cold. "I suppose you feel pretty superior right now, don't you?"

He said nothing for several moments, just let the silence stretch on until it became taut with tension. "No." With that word, his anger was gone, and all he felt was a heavy anvil of isolation upon shoulders. "But I will say this – you don't deserve Arthur, and you sure as hell don't deserve that," he jabbed his finger at Raja's basket which was placed on a small table.

Her face turned deep crimson at his jibes.

Before he left, he turned to her, lifted his head slightly in contemplation, then let out a breath of air as if he just had an epiphany. He left her in bewilderment, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

------------------------------------------

Raja didn't speak the next day, or the day after. She had a routine of getting up, eating breakfast, only at her Uncle's insistence, she went to the stables to spend time with Odin for about an hour, then she went back to her room and got under the covers, Nod by her side. She didn't want to read, and she didn't want to be read to. She didn't want to play Chess, and even on the sunny days she didn't want to go out for a ride, or pick flowers.

The end of August turned into the beginning of September, and still not a word. There was a pall of continuous blame over Lancelot's head. It stung when Lancelot had tried to apologize to Raja, but she only turned over in bed, presenting her back to him and lifted the covers over her head.

The pile of dead flowers and vase remained on his table, a reminder of his actions. All there was in the days was more training, more meetings, more news of villages burned. He would see Shia and Arthur talking, but he didn't care. If Arthur got something positive from her company, then so be it, who was he to infringe upon that. He still felt Shia was really no good, but she wasn't so bad that he would warn Arthur from her.

Two weeks later he walked into the stables. Raja was sitting on a small stool, a tiny box by her feet. Cautiously, he approached her.

"Hi," he said.

She looked up at him, eyes too big for her face, dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were mismatched. A dark red tunic, blue coat and black breeches. Her hair wasn't in a neat braid, but hung down her back and over her shoulders, tucked haphazardly behind her ears. It looked like she had only used her fingers to comb her black locks.

"What are you doing?" he asked, noting the box by her feet.

Raja put the tips of her fingers on the box tenderly. "Nod died," she whispered.

"Oh," was all Lancelot could say, struggling for something else. "I'm sorry." He had heard those words too much in his life when one of his Sarmatian brother-in-arms fell from mortality.

"Yes," she said so softly he could barely hear her. "He is gone." She stood up wearily. "Today is his funeral." She cradled the box in which her deceased friend occupied. Odin walked up to her, Horus cawed from the rafters. Penelo was likely out with Tristan. The scout and Bors were doing a perimeter check.

"Can I come?" Lancelot found himself saying.

"I think Nod would like that," she said without looking at him. He followed her and Odin out of the stables, Horus flew out and ahead of them. She said not a word as she walked under the sunny skies to the animal cemetery. Lancelot had never been there, in fact, he had never gone to one of her friend's funerals.

When he got there, he was taken aback. There were Egyptian symbols carved all over. Small markers were near every mound of dirt that her animal friends had been buried beneath. It was like some sort of Oasis, the nicest graveyard he had ever seen. A large copse of peacefulness dwelled here. She had laid out a specific spot for Nod, next to two other mounds of dirt. She had all the graves organized just so.

There was a hole already dug and she placed the box inside. The extra dirt near the hole was poured back into the earth until she was packing the mound with her small hands. Finally, she stood, waiting for the woods to calm. He followed her lead, bewildered that he was. He had been to many funerals, and though there were as many graves as the ones where his fallen brothers were, it felt different.

"We must have a moment of silence," she said. She folded her hands in front of her and bowed her head. He did the same.

A minute or two later, she rose her head and began to sing quietly something in Arabic. As she did, he looked at her as she looked down at the grave, such a deep, genuine sorrow on her face.

Then, the song ended, and she spoke.

"Dear Nod," she said. "I'm sorry I could not bury you sooner, but I had to wait until it stopped raining, but you're here next to your brothers, Wynken and Blynken, now."

Lancelot recalled those two names. It had been quite a few months ago.

"I will remember you always, my friend. I will not forget the comfort you gave me so selflessly, and the friendship you bestowed upon me."

Lancelot looked at Odin who had his head bent down as if in reverence, as if he understood what Raja was saying. Horus was up in a branch, his caws nonexistent. He noticed other birds on the branches, as if they were there specifically for the funeral. There were three squirrels in a nearby tree, and he could have sworn he saw what looked like a fox in a bush. Was that Firenze?

"I hope you are at peace now, Nod." She sniffled and her voice choked a bit. "When you see your brothers, please tell them I said hello and that I miss them. I still smile remembering when Blynken pooped in Uncle Ardeth's room and he was upset. But I told him, when you have to go, you have to go." She giggled but it fell short.

Lancelot saw a tear trickle down her cheek. True, he never quite understood this deep connection she had with animals. So many funerals and he hadn't shed a tear in years, yet; here she was with drops of grief, that she didn't bother to wipe away, trailing down her face.

"Anubis will take you to your brothers. And if you see my _walida_ or _baba_, tell them that I love them, and miss them."

Would she always have this aura of innocence, he wondered. When she got older, would she cry at these funerals. As years went by, would she remember the names of each animal she had buried with such care? Would there always be the uncomplicated sorrow in her eyes when she lost a friend? Standing here with her was a light but auspicious moment. He'd missed her these couple of weeks. It wasn't until she was gone that he felt the significance of her presence. His little cousin, despite her demons, was comforting. She wasn't filled with hypocritical notions, her mind was not filled with constant news of massacres. Lancelot's time spent with her was a reprieve from the bloodied world he had been forced into.

Without her hand in his, he realized that he missed it. Those hugs warmed him in a way that nothing could. Waking up each morning without the scent of flowers in his room was disappointing. Her love was simple and great. The things she believed in, she believed because her heart told her so, not a book with dogma that contradicted itself, or convinced people to start wars, invoke prejudice and contempt.

"I love you, Nod," she finished. "Another moment of silence." She said another prayer, and it was over. She wiped away the tears then, raising her head, scanning the graves. "Remember Moses?" she asked him, snapping him out of his reverie.

Moses. That mouse that was constantly with her when she had first arrived. "Yes."

She smiled a little. "Moses was a good friend." She offhandedly spoke of her other little friends – King Tut, Osiris, Frick and Frack, Sniffles. She took him around to every grave. The ones that were unmarked were the animals that had died before they could tell her their names, she told him.

The breeze grew stronger, and she stared up at the sky. "We should go back now," she said.

Lancelot held out his hand. He couldn't remember if he had ever offered her his hand just to simply walk. She stared at it for a moment, then slipped her tiny hand into his, and he enclosed his larger one over hers, squeezed it gently, and as they walked out of the graveyard, out of the forest, back into the fort, he never once loosened his hold. The comfort and love he felt was too great, and he didn't want it to end.

_My religion doesn't hate  
It will never turn you away  
It always understands  
My religion won't condemn  
Always lends a healing hand  
Yeah, yeah...it's love  
My religion's love  
-Krystal Harris _

9/17/07


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